All Those Years Ago
by 023Faust
Summary: A short story tribute to Louise Harrison! An excited fourteen year old George returns from highschool with the exciting news of his opportunity to join a band with schoolfriend Paul McCartney...


It was an average cold, drizzly afternoon when Louise Harrison watched her teenage son racing down Arnold Grove, returning from a day at high school that was to signal a profound change in his young life. She couldn't help but chuckle affectionately as her youngest son ran back home, openly brimming with mysterious excitement, and the proud mother silently marvelled at just how tall her boy had become; the 'Littlest Harrison' was soon growing into a handsome young man. He met her on the doorstep, breathless and ruddy from his enthusiastic sprint, and she caught him lovingly in her open arms; he was still her little boy no matter how much he had matured.

"A good day at school?" she asked, surprised at his joy.

"I'll tell you _all_ about it later," George beamed eagerly and kissed his stunned mother lightly on the cheek, "I've had a great day! It's been gear!"

"Stayed out of trouble then, have we?" his mother raised an expectant eyebrow, "no run-ins with the headmaster about this wild hairdo."

"No, not today!" George laughed as his mother ruffled his teddy-boy hair, "Mum, what time is dad back from work?"

"Oh," Louise put out her cigarette and stepped back into the house, "he finishes early tonight, he'll be back in about half an hour, or so he says. Why, Georgie?"

"I want him to be here when I tell you the big news," George smiled ambiguously, following his mother down the narrow hallway and into the small front room, "you won't believe what happened today!"

He threw himself down on the sofa, and in seconds his beloved guitar had made its way back home, into his hands; Louise quietly seated herself beside her musical son and listened intently to the gentle strumming, as he tried to contain his delight until his father arrived. She recalled all the times George had thrown this guitar down to the ground, or placed it despondently in the corner of the room in a frustrated sulk; 'I can't do it! It's just hopeless!' she recalled him crying out despairingly, and taking his sore fingertips in her caring hands, she would encourage him to keep at. She knew he was talented. He had a visible flare for music. And now as she watched the fourteen year old playing his pride and joy, Louise couldn't help but admire George's individuality. He simply refused to conform. Unlike his older brothers, who were well on their way to achieving steady manual jobs, George had bigger ideas for his future. The boy dressed and styled himself in a way that led to society viewing him as a ruffian; yet he wasn't all bad. Sure, he'd skip lessons for a cheeky cigarette or fall in with the wrong crowd occasionally, but he was young, he still had so much to learn on his path through life. His mother could tell he was yearning to escape the dreary expected life of a working-class Liverpudlian lad, and unlike his concerned father, she fully backed his determination not to lead a dead-end lifestyle; he was certainly his mother's son. He was already a headstrong and free spirit. He was going to be iconic.

_**That evening the Louise and Harold sat together on the sofa, watching their youngest son pace the room excitedly as he retold the conversation he had shared with Paul McCartney earlier that afternoon…**_

"And this McCartney lad," Harold asked, frowning anxiously, "is he a pupil at your school?"

"Yeah," George nodded enthusiastically, "he's in the year above. We've been mates for a while now and we're always comparing guitar techniques in lesson; sir hates it! But he's really gear! You'd love him to pieces mum, he's very musical."

"He sounds wonderful, Georgie!" Louise beamed, filled with girlish excitement at the very thought of her little boy joining a band, "And he really thinks you're good enough to play in his band then?"

"Well, he says I'm really talented." George blushed shyly, and shrugged his shoulders modestly, "But, it's not up to him whether I get in or not…"

"What do you mean?" Louise felt her heart sink and shot her husband a worried look.

"It's not Paul's band," George's dark eyes darted nervously around the room, and Louise noticed him biting his bottom lip (his nervous tick), "It's John Lennon's band…a boy in the year above Paul. So it's John's decision whether I'm in or not."

"Oh," Louise answered quietly as she smoothed the creases in her dress, "so when are you auditioning for a place in the band?"

"Erm…Paul should be calling for me any minute," her son fidgeted apprehensively, shifting his weight from foot to foot, "We're meeting John at the bus stop…the one near Penny Lane…and hopefully he'll want me in the band."

"You're taking the guitar?" Harold asked uneasily, after silently taking in the information, "What if someone tries to pinch it from you?"

"Oh, c'mon love," Louise nudged her husband playfully, "I'm sure three strapping young lads can take care of themselves."

"But it's getting late," Harold's eyes flickered to the clock on the mantel shelf, "couldn't you arrange to meet up some other time? Does it _have_ to be this evening?"

"Oh, _Harold_!" Louise cried out and young George chuckled nervously at his father's fretting, "He'll be fine! This is an important opportunity for him; our son is going to be famous!"

"_Mum_…" George grew increasingly flustered and embarrassed.

Louise jumped up from the sofa and collected George in an exuberant embrace, humming an old jazz number from her youth, and dancing the awkward teenager around the room. Harold shook his head in disbelief, straining to hold back an amused smirk, as his wife and son swayed together in celebration. He had really hoped that George would follow his older brothers and be employed in a regular job, but he had his mind set on becoming a musician; there was no way his little George was about to settle for being an electrician. And now, as there came a quick and nervous rapping at the door, Harold began to accept that his son was now old enough to decide his own fate. As a father he fully supported anything his son set out to achieve.

"That'll be Paul!" George cried, prizing himself free from his mother's grasp, "Answer the door Dad, I've got to pack up me guitar."

"Alright, alright," Harold mumbled as he hoisted himself up from the sofa, "keep your hair on lad."

As his father left the room, George swiftly packed up his cherished guitar and began to frantically comb his falling quiff away from his flushed face in the small mirror. Louise handed the boy his ruffled jacket, watching the teen turn up the collar and continue to anxiously style his hair. He was determined to prove that he wasn't just a kid, and that he was cool enough to be seen as member of a rock band; McCartney had warned him that John was prone to crack jokes and poke fun at his age, but reassured George that it was nothing personal, it was just the way John was. He _needed_ to prove that he was more than the average fourteen year old Liverpudlian lad. But as Paul patiently waited for him in the hallway, George felt unwelcome, icy nerves jittering through his body and considered calling the audition off. He'd never coped well with making first impressions.

"How are you feeling?" Louise asked her son, rubbing his slender arm comfortingly, "Nervous?"

"No!" George tried to sound convincing, but his voice cracked as he strained to smile, "I feel ready…ready to join a band."

"That's my boy!" Louise cooed and kissed her son affectionately on his cheek, "Now go out there and do your mother proud, lad."

"Thanks mum." He smiled nervously and turned to leave the room.

"Are you forgetting something?" Louise asked teasingly.

"Oh god!" George exclaimed and picked his guitar up from the sofa, "Nearly forgot my bloody guitar! That's not a good start…"

"C'mon then," Louise craned her neck to kiss the stressed teenager on the cheek, "I'll see you out. I want to meet this Paul I've heard so much about."

The mother was led by her nervous son into the hall, and there stood a fifteen year old boy with her equally awkward husband. He casually leant against the staircase, with hair quiffed back in a similar fashion to George's, and his big brown eyes scanned the hallway inquisitively. He was a bonnie young lad. Louise couldn't help but notice the rosy tint in Paul's flushed cheeks and large eyes full of curiosity, and felt her chest fill will motherly pride for the two teenage boys who stood before her. She admired them.

"Erm, mum…this is Paul." George introduced his friend awkwardly, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the hallway.

"A pleased to meet you Mrs Harrison!" the boy beamed politely and eagerly shook Louise's hand.

"The pleasure is all mine, Paul!" Louise cried heartily, "George has told us so much about you. I was wondering when I'd get round to finally meeting you."

"Oh really?" Paul raised his eyebrow as George's eyes grew watery with embarrassment.

"Well…we…we better get going to the bus stop now, mum." The red-faced boy stuttered, forcing Paul through the front door with the aid of his guitar, "We don't want to be late for John…"

"Goodbye Mr and Mrs Harrison," Paul cried out as he left, "hope to see you again sometime!"

"Bye mum, bye dad…" George mumbled nervously as he stepped out into the crisp evening air.

"Good luck son!" Louise stood in the doorway and watched her little boy as he hastily followed his friend down the cobbled street, "I _know_ you can do it!"

As she watched her son disappear into the misty dusk, Louise was filled with the conflicting emotions of both pain and joy. Joy that her youngest son was following his dreams, yet there was the faint pang in her heart as she realised her last child was about ready to fly the nest and become a man. She felt Harold's comforting hand upon her shoulder and turned to face her husband with a tearful smile. Harold returned the proud smile and squeezed his wife closer.

"Our little Georgie," Louise sighed into her husband's chest, "he's growing up so fast…"

_**1971…**_

"I'm sorry to hear about your mother," Paul sighed on the phone and George felt his lip tremble instinctively as the painful memories returned, "it's an awful shame, she was such a lovely lady."

"Yes," George choked quietly, "she was."

"Look if there's anything we can do to help, Linda and I would be happy to come and visit you," Paul replied comfortingly, desperate not to let the conversation fall into an awkward silence (things had been difficult between them since the band had split), "if there's _anything_ you need…if you need a bit of company…we'll be there."

"Look," George's voice quivered and he raised a slender finger to his temples, "I'll be fine, Paul. I'm not on my own here; Pattie and Jenny have been amazing helping me through all this. I just want to be alone with my wife for a while. I just want some peace and time to rest."

"Oh," Paul tried not to sound too offended by his ex-guitarist's dismissal; it wasn't George's fault he was grieving, "right…well, erm, take care of yourself George…and erm send my love to Pattie, won't you?"

"Will do," was the inaudible answer, "goodbye, Paul."

"Goodbye, Georgie" Paul replied sadly.

As he put the phone down, George felt the hot tears returning to his eyes as he looked upon an old photo of his beloved mother, in her radiant youth, hung upon the wall. But these were not tears of pain, but tears of joy. Joy that he had been blessed with such a supportive, comforting and kind-hearted woman to call his mother; a woman who was not afraid to take a wild leap of faith and let her son chase his impossible dream.

"Thank you, mum." George breathed and a bittersweet smile found its way across his tear streaked face.


End file.
